Just a kid
by sams1ra
Summary: Sam just wants to be a regular kid, and Dean lets him. No matter the cost. You asked for another chapter. Here it is! COMPLETED. Please review.
1. Wounded

Disclaimer – I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters here. Wish I did, but I don't.

A/N: I know I'm in the middle of another story, but I just had this scene stuck in my head and I'll never be able to go on with the other story if I didn't get it out. So here it is, little Dean and Sam. Oneshot. Review please!

* * *

Someone got in the classroom, handing Mrs. Lewis a note. She read it, pushing her huge glasses up her nose a little. The classroom was quiet, the children all working on the test in front of them.

"Dean Winchester, the principal would like to see you." Mrs. Lewis called. Dean raised his head from his test. _Now? What did he do now?_ He wondered. Dad would be angry, he wasn't supposed to get in anymore trouble, he'd promised. And he was doing well on the test. He'd actually studied for it.

"Now, Mrs. Lewis?" Dean asked, making sure. She gave him a slight nod.

"You can leave your test on my desk, Mr. Winchester." She said. Dean hesitated, but then got up, packing his things, and walked over to his teacher's desk. He wasn't going to get in anymore trouble. Shouldering his schoolbag, the thirteen year old boy made his way to the principal office. It was a path he knew all too well. His frequent tardiness, absences and grades bought him an uncomfortable familiarity with the headmistress of the school he had only attended in the past three months. The secretary took the note from Dean, telling him to sit by the door and wait to be called. Dean obeyed, shuffling toward the little row of chairs just outside the principal's office, already thinking of various excuses that might get him off the hook.

A couple of minutes later, Mrs. Reed popped her head out of her office.

"Dean, son, would you come in?" she asked, immediately lighting a warning sign in Dean's mind. _Since when does she call me son?_ He shouldered his bag again and got inside the office. Mrs. Reed smiled at him, motioning him to sit down. Dean's heart started beating a little faster. "I know I pulled you out of a test, I'm sorry." She started. _Yeah, right._ Dean thought, but didn't say anything. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, son." There she was, calling him son again. _Wait, what bad news?_ Dean's heart started racing. "I just got a call from the hospital. I'm sorry, son," she sighed, looking at him, "it's your father." Dean's heart skipped a bit. He swallowed hard, going all white in the face.

"My dad? What do you mean, what happened?" Dean asked nervously.

"I'm not sure." Mrs. Reed said. "But Mr. Scott will drive you there right away." Dean got to his feet, but they buckled from under him and he fell back in the chair. His stomach was contracting. "Are you all right, son?" Mrs. Reed asked quickly, getting to her feet and walking over to him. Dean gave a slight nod, getting back up. The headmistress called for his gym teacher, Mr. Scott, and he drove Dean to the hospital. Mr. Scott was very reluctant to leave Dean alone at the hospital, but Dean had insisted. He made his way to the nurses' station, and a nurse took him to see his father.

John was unconscious, but he must have been awake earlier, otherwise they wouldn't know to contact the school. That gave Dean some hope. His father was seriously injured, a doctor had told him. Something slashed him up pretty good, causing damage to his internal organs. Dean stood there, watching his father lying in that hospital bed as the doctor tried to explain about the surgery his father required. Dean stared at all the tubes and wires his father was hooked up on, and fought his panic, fought the tears that threatened to blind him. Something must have gone wrong with the hunt. Dean only hoped that his father had caused more damage than he had sustained. The doctor told him they needed to get his father ready for surgery, telling Dean he could wait in the waiting area and someone would come looking for him when it was all over. Dean gave a small nod.

"He's going to be okay though, right? You're going to fix him?" he asked, looking pleadingly at the doctor. The doctor sighed, promising Dean they would do their best.Dean noticed the doctor didn't say his dad was going to be all right.

Dean didn't go to the waiting area. He walked back to school instead. It took him more than an hour to get there, but he didn't get in. He walked on to Sam's school instead. He couldn't take the bus. Dad had only left him with enough money for food, and it had almost ran out.

The schoolyard was empty when Dean got there. _Good_, he thought, _at least I'm not late._ He hesitated a moment whether to get in and pick his younger brother up from his class, or wait for him at the gate, as he usually did. _If they'd told Sammy about dad, he'd probably be at the principal's office, waiting for me to pick him up_, Dean thought, _on the other hand, if they hadn't told him, I'd just scare him._ He decided to wait at the gate.

Dean smiled a small smile when he saw his younger brother coming out of the building, and waved at him. Sam quickly made his way to Dean, looking excited. Dean suppressed a sigh of relief. _Good. They hadn't told him. He doesn't know._

"Dean! Guess what? I got an A on my math test!" Sam announced, "And, I got an B+ on my midterm paper, the one you helped me with!" he said excitedly. Dean smiled.

"That's great Sammy." He said.

"You think dad would be happy?" Sam asked as they started their way to the motel they currently resided in. Their father never really cared for the grades they got, as long as they didn't fail all their classes and didn't get into trouble. For some reason however, Sam did care. A lot.

"I'm sure he will be, Sammy." Dean said, smiling at his little brother.

"He's coming back tonight, right?" Sam asked, "I need him to sign a form for school. We're going on a field trip next week, and we have to hand the forms in by tomorrow." Sam went on.

"I don't think he'll be coming home today. Maybe in a couple of days." Dean said, fighting the tears back again. "I can sign the form for you, I can forge dad's signature pretty well, if you want." He suggested.

"Yeah, okay." Sam said simply, stopping before crossing the road. "So how did your test go?" he asked Dean. Dean blinked. For a moment, he didn't understand what Sam was talking about. And then he remembered.

"It was good. I think I aced it." He said. Sam seemed very pleased to hear that.

"Hi, Dean, can we order pizza tonight?" Sam asked, looking up at his older brother.

"Not tonight, Sammy." Dean said. He had to be extra-careful with the money now. Make sure Sam had enough lunch money to last until dad came home. If dad ever came back.

"Why not?" Sam protested.

"Because I said so." Dean said. "I tell you what, I'll make you spaghetti tonight. What do you say?" he suggested.

"But I want pizza." Sam insisted.

"Fine!" Dean said eventually, growing tired with his little bother's pleading looks. "I'll get you pizza!" he snapped. A quick calculation told him that would leave just enough money for Sam's lunch for the next couple of days, and then they would be completely out of money. He didn't know what to do. But he would have to figure it out. Dad counted on him to take care of Sammy, no matter what. He wasn't going to tell Sam about dad, and how serious his situation was. _Why worry him?_ Dean thought to himself as he opened the door to their shabby motel room. _He's just a kid_…


	2. Daddy's home

A/N: Okay, so some of you asked for a second chapter. I wasn't really sure I wanted to post another part because I thought it should have ended where it did, but for some reason, I started playing the whole thing in my head, and came up with this. So that's the second chapter, and there are two more, once I actually write them down. I do warn you, there will be some tissues needed, especially later on as the story develops. I guess I should have renamed it 'I hate John'… Anyway, please tell me what you think, and if you even want me to post the rest of this story, or if I should have kept it a oneshot. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter two: Daddy's home

Three days have passed, and still, John hadn't come home to his sons. The money he had left behind had run out. Dean had no idea what to do. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to protect Sammy. They had to stay together. The youngest Winchester must never know the truth. For Sam, there would be food, there would be hope that dad was just taking more time on his hunt and would come home any moment. Dean never let his little brother see him cry. He was a man. Men don't cry. Even when his stomach wouldn't stop growling and Sam kept complaining he was tried of eating spaghetti all the time. He had sent Sam to bed two hours before his bedtime, because when they were asleep, they didn't feel as hungry.

On the fourth day, Dean came to pick Sam up after school, as he had always done. It broke his heart when Sam walked his way, the smile that usually adorned his chubby face gone, replaced by a sad, puppy-eyes, look.

Sam was scared. He didn't understand why dad didn't come back. He kept asking Dean if he had done something wrong, and that's why dad didn't come home. He kept asking Dean if dad was angry with them for not training as much as he had wanted. Dean kept denying it, kept reassuring his little brother that everything was all right. It was just that the hunt must be taking longer than dad had anticipated, Dean lied, trying to make his little brother feel better. Sam would nod his head, going back to his homework, and Dean would do his best to stay strong, for his brother's sake.

Dean smiled as Sam neared him.

"Guess what, Sammy?" he asked.

"Daddy's back?" Sam asked quickly, hope igniting in his eyes. Dean fought to keep smiling.

"I have something for you." he said instead, reaching inside his schoolbag and taking out a large brown paper bag. "I know I forgot to give you lunch money today," the older brother said, giving the paper bag to the younger. "So I got you this. Come on, eat up, I know you're hungry." Dean encouraged him. Sam looked inside the bag, making a face.

"It's tuna. I don't like tuna sandwiches!" he protested.

"But that's all they had!" Dean said irritably. He had to get in a fight to get that lunch from one of the kids in his class. He got himself in trouble with the headmistress, again. He had that wonderful smelling food in his schoolbag all day, and he didn't touch it, so that Sammy would have something to eat. "Look, you can just scrape the tuna off. And there's an apple and a banana in there, too." Dean added, taking the edge off his last words. Sam reached in and took the apple, biting it ravenously.

"You want the banana?" Sam offered as they made their way down the street.

"No, it's okay, Sammy. I already ate." Dean lied. "If you don't want it now, just save it for later." He added.

"Well, tomorrow don't forget to give me money for lunch." Sam said. Dean glanced at his brother.

"I won't." he promised. It would be a difficult promise to keep, but it was one Dean had every intention of keeping. He will find a way to get Sam the money, even if it meant getting into more trouble. Dad wasn't there to punish him for it, was he? _Had he been there, I wouldn't have to get in trouble in the first place_, Dean thought to himself.

Dean's heart missed a beat when he put his hand on the doorknob of their motel room. Something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but every instinct he had, every instinct his dad had instilled him with, told him there was something wrong. Some danger he couldn't name.

"Sammy, you wait here." He said, pushing Sam back a little.

"Why?" Sam demanded, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Just wait here, Sammy, would you?" Dean snapped. He searched feverishly in his schoolbag for his little pocket knife. His heart hammering, he took it out and unlocked the door. "Stay here where I can see you." he instructed his little brother, and pushed the door open, knife held fast. Dean glanced at Sam, took a deep breath, and entered the room. And then his heart missed yet another beat.

"Dad!" he cried with surprise.

"Hi, kiddo. Where's your brother?" John asked, a smile on his face. But Dean didn't get the chance to answer. Hearing his brother's cry, Sam shot inside the room, running for his father, and hugged him tightly. Sam was so overjoyed to have his father back, he didn't notice when John flinched. He didn't see the pain in his father's eyes, or his gritted teeth. But Dean did.

"Didn't you say you had to go to the bathroom?" he asked.

"I'm so glad you're back, daddy. I was real worried about you." Sam said, letting go of his father. John smiled at him. "Why do you always call when I'm asleep?" he demanded. "Dean made me go to sleep early. I didn't want to, but he said I had to!" Sam accused.

"You should listen to your brother, Sammy. He's trying to protect you." John said, glancing at his older son. Sam hugged him again, and then quickly ran to the bathroom, making John smile. He turned to his eldest son next.

"Dean," he said, but didn't know what else to say.

"Did the doctors say you're okay?" Dean asked in a small voice. John sighed. He wasn't sure his sons were aware of what had happened, at least, not until now.

"They said I still needed to rest." John said, and then kneeled in front of his son. "Everything is going to be alright." He said. Dean fought his tears back again, giving a light nod.

"I know." He said in a strangled voice.

"Daddy, I got an A on my test!" Sam said cheerfully, waving his test, wanting to make his father proud. John smiled.

"That's nice, Sammy. Listen, I've been up all night. I need to rest now. Could you two go do your homework or something, be quiet so I can rest?"

"Yes, sir." Dean said quickly, pulling Sam along. "Come on, Sammy, I'll help you with your homework, and then we'll work out a little, okay?"

* * *

Dean never told his father about the money running out. He didn't tell him about getting in a fight at school. He didn't even tell John that he had stolen some money off the register when he went to buy the pizza and the man wasn't looking. There was no point in telling his father that, he knew it would just get him in trouble, get dad angry. Dad was here now, that was all that mattered.

John had suspected something was amiss, though. He suspected it when he overheard Dean hushing Sam, saying they shouldn't bother dad because he needed his rest. He suspected even more when Dean gave his little brother such an angry glare for waking John up and asking that they all went out to dinner. Dean protested, saying John should just go back to sleep and he would take care of Sam, but John was just sure something was wrong. He tried asking his older son about it, but Dean denied anything was wrong. Sam had denied it, too, but John couldn't get rid of that feeling. Especially as he saw his sons finish up everything on their plates, vegetables included, in less than five minutes. Sam had asked for seconds. Both he and Dean cleared up those plates in less than ten minutes as well. He wondered why. He had left his boys with enough money, he was sure of that.

Dean said practically nothing during dinner, which usually meant he was either up to something, or trying to hide something. John decided to let it go, at least for tonight. Sam was doing enough talking for the both of them anyway, giving John a headache. They stopped at the grocery store on their way back to the motel, and as Dean went to get the much needed supplies, John treated himself to a bottle of scotch.

* * *

Dean stirred in bed. He had to go to the bathroom, but he really didn't want to get out of bed. Finally, he could hold on no longer, and rolled out of bed. He caught a glimpse of his father on his way back to bed. John seemed to have passed out, the empty bottle rolling out of his hand and onto the floor. Dean bit his lip. _He promised,_ Dean thought. He didn't feel like going to sleep anymore. He walked back to the room he shared with his younger brother, hesitating. Sam was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of everything that had happened. Of everything that will happen. Dean got back in bed, sitting with his back against the wall and pulling the covers up to his neck. Now he knew. Now he understood the reason for his father's foul mood in the last couple of days. Dean stared at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five in the morning. Twelve hours from now, he would turn fourteen.

Dean made sure to clear away his father's bottle before Sam woke up. He warned Sam to keep quiet and poured milk into his younger brother's cereal. He had to remind Sam to keep quiet several times. Sam just wouldn't shut up. He was so excited from the field trip he was going on. Dean listened to his brother's chatter all the way to Sam's school, and watched as his brother quickly made his way inside. Sam loved school. It seemed to come easy to him. He didn't even have any trouble making new friends wherever they went. Dean admired that about his brother, and did everything he could to help. He didn't really feel like going to school today, but he was already in trouble for getting in a fight, he couldn't risk getting expelled. His dad would get really angry if that happened.

The hours passed by lazily. They had two pop quizzes that day. Amazingly enough, he passed them both, even though he wasn't really paying attention in class. Dean could have sworn the day would never end. But eventually, it did. He grabbed his schoolbag and was the first out of his class. Someone called his name. He turned, and quickly wished he hadn't.

"Hi, Winchester, got the money?" the older kid asked.

"No," Dean admitted.

"No money, no goods. You know that." The kid said.

"I'll get the money." Dean promised.

"Yeah, whatever, man. You know where to find me." The kid said, and walked away. Dean bit his lip. He really wished he had had the money. It could have been a great birthday present. Sighing, Dean walked over to pick Sam up from school. Sam ran up to him, all excited about the field trip. He didn't stop talking all the way back to the motel room.

"Dean!" Dean's heart shrunk.

"Sammy, go start working on your homework." Dean said quickly. Sam looked up at his older brother questioningly. "Go, Sammy!" Dean said urgently. The younger boy sighed and disappeared in their room.

"Dean, you'd better get here, now!" his father yelled. Dean swallowed. John had been cranky ever since he got back from the hospital. He didn't get whatever it was he was hunting, and it annoyed him, made him mad. Dean quickly obeyed his father's bidding. "What's that I hear about you getting in a fight in school?" John demanded. Dean lowered his eyes, saying nothing. "I asked you a question!" John snapped. Swallowing, Dean still offered no answer. "Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of school? Do you like getting in trouble?" John demanded. "I asked you a question!" he yelled when Dean failed to answer once more.

"No, sir." Dean said in a small voice.

"No dinner." John said harshly. "Go work out." He ordered.

"I have homework." Dean said in a small voice, but the look in his father's eyes told him this was not the right answer. "Yes, sir." He said obediently and went over to his father's bedroom, where he had kept all the workout equipment.

Dean sat on the bed, looking at the time. It was almost eight o'clock at night. His stomach growled. He hadn't had a thing to eat since lunch, and he had been working out since he got home from school. He still had homework to do, but he doubted he would actually do them. He wiped the sweat from his brow and went back to his workout. John came in not long after that. He looked at the sweat on his son's body with content.

"Go wash up." He said.

"Yes, sir." Dean said, walking over to the bathroom. He sat in the shower, letting the water run over him, thinking. His father was angry. Worse, his father was angry, and drinking. And still wounded. Dean figured his dad must be angry because the creature got away, and frustrated because he wasn't strong enough to do anything about it just yet. _Maybe, if he got the creature, dad would relax. Maybe he wouldn't be so frustrated, and then he wouldn't drink so much_, Dean thought. But his dad wasn't well enough to go after the creature just yet. Dean got to his feet, turning the water off and getting out of the shower. He had a plan now. He would make it better, and then his father won't be so angry, and Sam won't ask him all those annoying questions he couldn't answer. Getting dressed, Dean walked out of the bathroom. His father was sitting in front of the TV, flipping through channels. There was a bottle right next to him. Dean bit his lip. He started his way towards his father's bedroom.

"Dean!" Dean stopped at once.

"Yes, sir?" he asked in a small voice.

"You brushed your teeth?"

"Yes, sir." Dean answered quickly. His father turned to look at him.

"Straight to bed." His father ordered in a harsh tone. Dean nodded and started his way to his bedroom, only to stop a few steps later and glance back at his father. John had gone back to flipping channels. Dean swallowed. Walking quickly, quiet as a mouse, he turned to his father's bedroom. Glancing over his shoulder, his heart hammering, Dean reached his hand under his father's bed and pulled the duffle bag out. He glanced over his shoulder again, his hands shaking. He rummaged through the bag, not exactly knowing what he needed. Finally, he grabbed his father's large hunting knife. He considered taking a nine-millimeter, too, but quickly ruled it out. He might miss and hurt someone. Besides, a nine millimeter would be harder to hide under his shirt. Shoving the duffle bag back under his father's bed, Dean tip-toed back to his bedroom.

"You didn't do your homework." Sam noted as Dean walked in.

"I know, Sammy." Dean said, getting in bed, the cold steel of the knife pressing against his back. Sam sat up in his own bed.

"You want me to tell you about what Suzie did today at the field trip? It was hilarious." Sam said, trying to cheer his brother up. Dean smiled at him.

"Maybe tomorrow, sport. You'd better go to sleep." He said.

"You hungry?" Sam asked, "I snuck some cereal when dad wasn't looking."

"No, Sam. I'm not really hungry." Dean said, and for once, he wasn't lying. Sam looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged.

"Okay then." He said, rearranging his pillow. "Night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy." Dean replied, watching his little brother pulling his covers up and closing his eyes. Sam wouldn't have to worry about dad being angry. Not for long. He shouldn't be worried about such things anyway. That's what grown-ups were for.


	3. Hunted

A/N: I was a little surprised by the almost total lack of response to the second chapter. Still can't figure out if you liked it or not (I don't have any of Sam's psychic powers), so reviews are always more than welcome. I already wrote this one, so here it is. Review, and the last part will magically appear...

Chapter three: Hunted

Dean stared at the ceiling, listening to his little brother's soft breaths. He was afraid he might fall asleep at first, but the adrenaline and the thought of what he was about to do kept him wide awake. He waited until he heard the bottle drop to the carpet and roll away. He had always had sharp ears. Quickly, carefully, Dean climbed out of bed. He tip toed to the living room to make sure his dad was sound asleep, and then made his way back to his room and quickly changed his clothes and put his shoes on. He glanced at his little brother, and readjusted Sam's covers before taking John's hunting knife and heading quietly for the door. He flinched at the sound the lock made when he unlocked it, looking over his shoulder to see if his dad had heard it. He sighed a little sigh of relief when he heard John snore in his stupor. Dean opened the door, and then hesitated, closing it back. _Maybe the nine millimeter wasn't such a bad idea after all_, he thought, and took it from his dad's room. Heaving a deep breath, Dean opened the door again, and snuck out.

It was cold outside, so cold Dean could see the vapor of his breath. He kept telling himself that it was only the cold that made him shiver. It was a little after two in the morning, and the streets were practically deserted. Dean pulled his jacket closer, shining his little flashlight to keep the dark away, the knife held fast in his hand. He cursed himself for not thinking of taking a pear of gloves with him. He walked the streets, his eyes wary of the slightest movement. He quickly changed his mind about the knife, slipping it in his pocket and taking out the gun. It would do much better to keep people away from him in these streets.

Dean's heart raced. It wasn't the first time he had gone hunting, but he had never hunted alone before. He had done his homework, though. He did know what it took to kill that thing. His father's notes suggested that a shot to the head, or preferably cutting the head off altogether, would kill the creature. Dean's teeth began to clutter at the cold outside. _It's cold enough to start snowing_, Dean thought, and kept moving. He looked at his watch; it was almost four in the morning. It was getting dangerously late, and Dean hoped his little hunt wouldn't be for nothing. Either way, he had to get back to the motel by six. And then a quick movement caught his eye. He turned quickly, flashing his flashlight, his gun ready – and nearly shot a stray dog that knocked down a garbage bin, trying to scavenge for any leftovers. Heart still racing, Dean lowered his gun, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. And then he heard it, from behind. He wasn't going to make a fool of himself again. This time, he was going to make sure. He turned his head. And froze.

He knew from his father's stories what the creature would look like. He just didn't realize it would be so… tall. It had a rat-like face, and a muscular body with thick hair. It had a good nine inches on Dean, staring at him with yellow eyes, salivating at the mouth a little. Dean swallowed, his eyes lingering on the creature's hands, ending with at least ten inch claws; sharp enough to tear through bone. The creature's front seemed almost solid. A knife wouldn't penetrate it, not with Dean's strength.

Dean's heart was pounding so hard he actually thought it might pound its way out of his chest. He swallowed, readying himself. The creature lowered its head a little, revealing its sharp teeth, and Dean took an involuntary step back. For a moment, his mind was completely blank. He had no idea what to do. He just stared at these yellow eyes, at those sharp teeth.

He jumped, turning quickly away. It was pure instinct at seeing one of those scary-ass clawed hands reaching his way. Dean's mind screamed at him to run, to get dad. But he couldn't. There was a reason he was here, in this freezing cold, facing this creature. It had hurt his father. It made his father drink again. Dean's fingers tightened around his father's gun. Holding it up with an unsteady hand, Dean fired three shots. Two missed the creature entirely, the third barely scraping the side of its head. _Damn, this thing is quick!_ Dean thought. And then his eyes widened. _Oh, shit!_

There wasn't much room to back away. He ducked at the last minute, the creature's claws ripping through the air where his head had just been. Dean swallowed as the creature screeched in anger. He tried firing at it again, but the creature was faster once more. Worse, it was fast enough to cut Dean's hand. It was only a superficial scrape, but it was enough to make Dean drop the gun. It almost looked like the creature smiled in satisfaction. Dean swallowed hard, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping. He reached for the gun, but again, the creature was faster. Dean had to make a split second decision, and he made it.Dean ran.

He wasn't sure where he was running to, he just ran as fast as he could. The creature was at his heel, and damn, this thing was fast! It felt like Dean had been running for hours. He knew it wasn't true, but it still felt that way. He was fast, but that thing was faster. Dean slipped though locked fences, hoping it would buy him some time since the creature was bigger and wouldn't fit. Only it didn't have to. It ripped though the fences with its claws instead.

Dean leaned against a freezing wall, peeking behind it. Finally, he lost it. Dean took a deep breath, leaning his head against the wall and wiping sweat off his brow. _He should have brought another gun_, he cursed himself. Peeking again to make sure the creature wasn't behind him anymore, Dean pushed away from the wall and made his way to the other side. And then he froze again. The creature was there, waiting, or so it seemed. It had been waiting there all this time. With a yelp of surprised, Dean made another run for it, but this time, he wasn't so lucky. The creature slammed him against the wall so hard all the wind got knocked out of him. Dean swallowed in fear, his eyes desperately looking for a way of escape. In his desperation, Dean picked up at sharp rock, throwing it at the creature's head. Unfortunately, the only damage it had done was get the creature even angrier. But there was a slight second in which the thing was distracted, and Dean used it to get away.

The skies were starting to brighten up. Soon, the sun would be up. Dean didn't know if that was enough to deter the creature, but he wasn't going to risk his life on a guess; and so he kept running. But he just wasn't fast enough. The creature jumped on him from behind, making Dean crash to the ground and hit his head on the pavement. Dean's eyes watered at the pain in his now bloody nose. He shuffled, trying to get to his feet and get away. Dean screamed as the creature's claws ripped through his back. It would cut him open, feeding on his internal organs. Dean knew it was that creature's MO. He squirmed, kicking as hard as he could, and for the slightest of moments, managed to turn on his back, facing the creature that was about to devour him. The pain in his back was blinding, but there was no time to think about it. He wished with all his heart that he had kept hold of the gun, that by some miracle, his dad would show up and save the day. But he knew those wishes would never come true. None of his wishes ever did. He had just seconds to live, and Dean knew it. It couldn't happen. Not yet. Sam wasn't ready yet. There would be no one to protect him if Dean died.

_The knife!_ He remembered in the last possible moment, and quickly reached in his pocket, taking his father's hunting knife out. He thrust it in the creature's neck as hard as he could, just as the creature was about to bite his own neck off. The creature screeched again, shaking its head in anger and pain. Dean quickly rolled away, but still got another nasty taste of the creature's claws on his back. He stumbled to his feet and ran as fast as his frozen, weary, terrified body allowed him.

Dean glanced over his shoulders several times before he was convinced the creature wasn't still behind him. He knew he couldn't go back to the motel with this thing at his heel. It might hurt Sammy. No, he had to shake it off first. Dean stopped just once, trying to catch his breath. Sweat was trickling down his back, and the deep lacerations on his back hurt like hell. But there was no time to stop. The sun already came up. It was past six o'clock. He had to get back. He was nearly run over by a newspaper truck when he ran across the road without looking. But it didn't even register in his terrified mind. What was a huge truck against what he had just faced? He thought he had been prepared, but that creature scared the living daylight out of him. Dean kept running, gasping for breath, ignoring the pain in his lungs and back, until he was certain the creature was no longer after him. That it wouldn't sneak up on him and try to hurt Sammy. It was after sevenwhen Dean finally made it back to the motel.

His hands shaking, Dean cursed as he failed to get the key in the keyhole for the third time. He had wounded the creature. He wasn't sure how badly he had wounded it, but it was wounded. Dean could see the blood trail as he ran in circles so that the thing won't find Sammy. If they left now, his dad could kill it before it had time to recover. If only he could open the damn… And then the door was yanked open from within.

"Dad!" Dean breathed, almost relieved. John didn't say anything. He just grabbed Dean by the collar and hauled him in the room. "Dad, listen," Dean started, but then noticed the look in his father's eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking!" John demanded.

"Dad…"

"Shut up! I'm talking now, boy!" John snapped. Dean swallowed. "You think you're so smart, sneaking out in the middle of the night?" John was fuming. He grabbed at Dean's ear and Dean winced in pain. "How many times, Dean? How many times do we have to go over this?" John yelled. "You want me to trust you, you want me to take you with me on jobs, but you keep disobeying my orders!"

"But dad, I didn't…"

"Don't you talk back! You don't get to talk back!" John snapped. "I trusted you! I told you that I needed you to watch over your brother, to protect him! And what did you do?" John demanded.

"But dad…"

"I said shut up!" the vein in his father's forehead was sticking out. Dean bit his lip. "What the hell was so important you snuck out in the middle of the night? Seriously, Dean, tell me. What was more important than making sure your brother was safe?" John yelled.

"Dad, I was just…" And then John backhanded him. He hit Dean so hard he threw him to the floor, knocking over a lamp. Dean stayed down, shocked to the core. He looked up at his father, frozen, and didn't move.

"Don't you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?" John cried in rage, glaring at his son. Dean was still shocked, but still managed a small 'Yes, sir', his hand reaching slowly to his throbbing cheek. "You ever try to pull this again, and I'll really make you sorry, do I make myself clear, Dean?" John demanded.

"Yes, sir." Was Dean's automatic reply. John glowered at him a moment longer before heading for the kitchen.

"Get up, boy." He said, "Go get cleaned up, and you'd better be quick about it. You'd better not be late for school!" John glanced back at Dean, "And you'd better not get in any more trouble. You hear me?"

* * *

Dean let the water run down on his body, washing away all traces of dirt, blood and tears. And there were many tears. And there was a lot of blood. Dean's back seared in pain, his cheek still throbbed where his father had struck him. And it hurt so much more than anything that creature did. It hurt so much more than anything that creature might have done. But there was no time to sit and cry and feel sorry for himself. It was late. He had to make sure Sammy got to school on time. Sam hated to be late for school.

Dean dried himself, gritting his teeth against the blinding pain in his back, and got dressed. He walked out to the kitchen to see Sam sitting by the table, finishing his eggs. There was a plate sitting there for him, too, but he couldn't eat it even if he wanted to. He smiled at Sam.

"Come on, Sammy. You don't want to be late for school, do you?" Sam quickly stuffed another forkful of eggs in his mouth and shouldered his schoolbag. Dean carried his in his hands.

"Dean, why was dad yelling before?" Sam asked as they got out of the house.

"He just gets like that when he drinks." Dean explained. "It's nothing, you don't have to worry." He went on. Sam looked up at him.

"Are you sure? 'Cause it was a little scary." Sam said.

"I'm sure, Sammy. Now come on, or we'll be late." Dean answered him. "You don't have to worry Sammy." Dean added a moment later, seeing his little brother going all quiet, "You know I'll never let anything happen to you."

"I know, Dean."

TBC


	4. Oblivious

A/N: The last part is finally here. I could have made a few more chapters, but I promised you I'd finish it in three. It's long, but worth it. Thanks to all who reviewed – you rock! A couple of warnings; deals with self harm, and also, I needed tissues writing it, so I'd suggest you keep a box nearby. Enjoy, and review!

Chapter Four: Oblivious

Dean supported his head with his hand, looking down at the paper in front of him with glazed eyes. Another midterm. It was a history test. He actually knew some of the answers, but all he wrote was 'who cares' on the little line where his name should have been. His back hurt, his jaw was still very sensitive, but it was the fact that his father had hit him that hurt Dean the most.

"Time's up, Mister Winchester." His teacher said as he took Dean's test from him. Dean looked up at the teacher, a little startled, and then got up and left the classroom.

"Dean, hey, wait up!" someone called out after him. Dean stopped, looking back. It was Rebecca, a girl from his science class. He actually liked her, and used to flirt with her every now and then.

"Hi, Becky." Dean said. The three other girls shadowing Rebecca started to giggle.

"Hi," Rebecca smiled at him, "Guess what? My birthday's coming up next week." She said excitedly. "My parents are throwing me this really awesome party. They actually rented the arcade, can you believe that?" she asked excitedly, obviously waiting for him to show the same excitement, but Dean said nothing. _It must be wonderful when people cared about your birthday. When they threw a party just for you_, Dean thought. "Anyway," Rebecca went on, handing him a piece of paper. Dean looked at the decorated invitation. "it would be really great if you could come." She said, sending the other girls giggling again. "It's on Saturday. All the details are in here." She added, and Dean gave the invitation another glance.

"Sure." He said, ignoringthegiggles and whispers.

"Great!" Rebecca said, glaring at herfriends. "So… I guess I'll see you in science then." She smiled at him, and then left along with her friends. Dean looked at the invitation again, and then crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the first trash bin he came across.

A couple of guys from his gym class invited him to join them for lunch, but he didn't. He didn't want the company. Any company. He sat by himself, eating his sandwich, and ended up throwing it away, having no appetite. He was on his way to algebra when the school councilor stopped him. _Great. Now what?_ Dean thought to himself, telling Mrs. Dwight he didn't want to be late for class, which wasn't exactly true, but teachers usually liked hearing that kind of crap. Unfortunately, Mrs. Dwight insisted, saying she'd write him a note. Sighing, Dean followed her to her office, trying to pretend he wasn't wincing or gritting his teeth in pain as he shouldered his schoolbag. Even the slightest touch against those deep cuts made him want to scream. Mrs. Dwight told him to take a seat, sitting across from him.

"So, how are you doing, Dean?" she asked. Dean shrugged.

"Okay, I guess." He said.

"And your father?"

"Fine. He's back home now." Dean said, putting on his 'everything is just peachy' face.

"And how are things at home?" Mrs. Dwight pushed. _None of your goddamn business_, Dean thought.

"Okay." He said instead. She eyed him carefully.

"How did you get that bruise? It looks pretty nasty." She observed.

"I fell." Dean lied quickly. She looked intently at him, and then gave a slight nod.

"Mr. Fletcher came to see me today, Dean." She said, studying his reaction. _Oh, great._ "Do you know what he had to say?" she asked. Dean felt hot under her intense look. He shrugged, even though he had quite a good guess. The correct one, it seemed, as Mrs. Dwight opened the large file before her and took out a familiar-looking piece of paper, pushing it his way. "Do you recognize this?" she asked in a very serious tone of voice. Dean felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, wishing he could just disappear into the seat. He shrugged again. "You see, Dean, when someone like you does something like that, it worries me." Mrs. Dwight said in a concerned voice.

"It was just a joke." Dean said quickly. "I didn't know any of the answers. I just… I don't like history all that much." He said. Mrs. Dwight seemed less than convinced. She glanced at Dean's file again. He had gotten a B+ on his last history exam. She looked back at Dean, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"It's not a very good joke." She noted.

"I'll make it funnier next time." Dean said without thinking, and then bit his tongue. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." He apologized. He couldn't afford getting in any more trouble, especially not today. Mrs. Dwight said nothing for a long moment. She leafed through his file. Dean watched her nervously, his stomach turning.

"I don't understand it, Dean. You're a very smart boy, and yet your grades…" she shook her head disapprovingly. "And you keep getting in fights." Dean bit his lip, lowering his eyes. "Tell me, Dean, what would you like to do when you grow up?" she asked all of a sudden, catching him off guard. He looked at her for a long moment, truly thinking of an answer, but ended up shrugging again. It seemed to be the wrong answer. "I think I need to see your father." Came the dreaded words out of Mrs. Dwight's mouth, the words hitting Dean like another punch to the face.

"Why? He demanded.

"Because I think he needs to know you're not doing your best. You have such potential, Dean, you could be a straight A student if only you applied yourself, and I think…" but Dean wasn't listening anymore. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to tell his father he wasn't doing his very best. _What the hell does she know anyway?_ Dean thought bitterly to himself as he got up and walked out of Mrs. Dwight's office before she even finished the sentence. _Who cares about history and science and math anyway?_ He thought. The research books of the supernatural his father kept; he knew some of these by heart. They were what mattered, but he didn't expect someone like Mrs. Dwight to understand that. Dean caught a glimpse of the hall monitor from the corner of his eye and hastened his pace, quickly making his way out of the school. It didn't matter anyway. Clenching his jaw, he walked over to the small park on the far end of town. He still had three hours before he had to pick Sam up from school, that should leave him plenty of time to get back.

A couple of older kids broke off from their basketball game and made their way towards him.

"Hi, Winchester," one of them nodded at him. "What are you doing here?" Dean waited for him to get closer.

"I need to get what we talked about." He said. The older kid nodded.

"Sure thing. You got the money?" Dean bit his lip.

"I'll get you the money later." He promised, making the older kids smirk.

"Great. Then I'll get you your stuff later." One of them said as the other already turned back to the game. "Hi, you know the rules," the kid added at the look on Dean's face, "no money, no goods." Dean glowered at him, but said nothing. He started walking back to Sam's school, his entire body aching. He was exhausted from lack of sleep and everything he had been through in the last couple of days.

Dean got to Sam's school early and decided to wait inside, and not at the gate as usual. He smiled and waved at Sam as he got out of class. Sam rushed over to him.

"Hi, Dean, Morgan asked me to come over to his house. Can I go?" he asked.

"I don't know," Dean said, "you'll have to ask dad." The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to get in trouble with their father.

"But he asked me to come now." Sam insisted.

"Then you should tell him you have to ask your dad first." Dean said authoritatively.

"You suck!" Sam glowered at him, and went to tell his friend his annoying brother told him he couldn't come. Dean said nothing, not even when Sam stuck out his tongue at him. He just wanted to go home and get this day over with. "Daddy!" Sam's surprised cry jerked Dean back from his daydream. John stood by his truck at the gate, smiling at his boys. Dean quickly caught hold of Sam's schoolbag, yanking him back as he rushed for his dad. "Ouch! Dean, what'd you do that for?" Sam demanded. It was an instinct. He had to protect Sammy, even if it was from their dad. Dean watched his father. He never came to pick them up from school, not in years. Why now?

"Come on, boys, get in the car." John said. Sam pushed Dean back, running over to his father and getting in the truck. Dean hesitated. "Come on, kiddo. Get in the car." John repeated. There didn't seem to be anger in his voice, but still… Dean hesitated a moment longer.

"Yes, sir." He said quickly as John opened his mouth to say something more, quickly getting in the car.

"Dad, Morgan invited me over to his house today, but Dean said I couldn't go. Can I, dad? Please?" Sam asked as John got in the car.

"We'll see, Sammy." John said and started the car. He noticed with shame the large ugly bruise on his older son's cheek and guilt nagged at him. He didn't remember hitting Dean that hard.

Dean fidgeted in his seat, not letting his back touch the seat, and kept his eyes firmly away from his father, looking out the window. He kept his mouth shut, bracing himself. He doubted his father only came to pick his younger son up from school. _What if someone from school called him?_ Dean's heart raced, his eyes blindly watching the houses going by.

"So, how was school?" John asked, glancing over to his eldest son, but it was the younger that answered instead, and in great length. Dean kept quiet all the way back to the motel. He slowly got out of the car, heading for the motel room. "Dean." Dean froze. Swallowing, he looked back at his father. "You didn't go to school today?" John asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

"I did!" Dean said quickly, "I just left early so I won't be late to pick Sammy up." He said, his heart pounding as his father neared him. Dean winced, backing away as John touched his chin, moving his head to take a better look at the bruise. John sighed.

"Why do you insist to get in trouble, son?" he asked, "It's not like you." Dean said nothing, not returning his father's look. "Does it hurt?" John asked. Dean's eyes welled up, but he shook his head. "I need to know that I can trust you, Dean." John went on, "How am I supposed to trust you to take care of your brother, to protect him, if you keep lying to me? If you keep getting into trouble at school?" John demanded. Dean lowered his eyes. "That little stunt you pulled last night was unacceptable. Do you understand?" John's tone was firm, but not as angry as Dean had expected it to be.

"Yes, sir." Dean said in a small voice.

"You're grounded. No TV, either. You come home straight from school and you work out, do you understand?" Dean nodded lightly. "Now, go wash up. And do your homework. I think you're in enough trouble at school, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." Dean said, getting inside. John watched him as he went, and a thought occurred to him. He had meant to tell Dean he was sorry, that he never meant to hit him, that it was the wrong thing to do and that he loved him. But he didn't say any of that.

* * *

Dean sat on his bed, chewing on his pencil, his books open before him, but he wasn't really looking at them. He had a far away look in his eyes as he tried to imagine what life would have been like if his mother was there. He tried to imagine what it must feel like to go around school asking people to come to _his _birthday party, to get presents and have a cake and everything. He didn't really mind not getting presents. Sure, it would be nice, but he knew his dad couldn't afford it. There was just one thing he wanted anyway. He just wanted to have a normal, happy family. 

"Dean?" Dean shook his head, returning to reality by Sam's voice.

"Hmm?"

"I need help with my homework." Sam said.

"Bring it over, let's see." Dean said, pushing his own schoolwork aside.

"Hi, Dean?" Sam asked halfway though an algebra problem.

"What?"

"What happened to your cheek?" Sam asked, looking quite intently at the purple bruise.

"We played dodge ball in gym class." Dean lied.

"Hi, Dean?" Sam asked again, not a moment later. Dean looked irritably at him. "Gregg said they had batting practice today. He said I could come."

"So? What do you want from me?" Dean asked. Sam looked at him with his puppy eyes.

"Will you take me?" he asked pleadingly, "I really want to go, and dad would never let me if you didn't come." He said.

"I can't, Sammy, I'm grounded." Dean said, suddenly very interested in Sam's algebra book.

"Oh, man! Why do you _always_ have to get in trouble?" Sam accused. "I _never_ get to do what I want!" he snapped, walking angrily out of the room. Dean kicked Sam's books off his bed and closed the door. He got in bed, pulling the covers up over his head. Even the light weight of the covers against his back was enough to make him grit his teeth. Dean buried his head in the pillow and started sobbing, not making a single sound. He had had plenty of practice.

"Hi, Dean!" Dean froze as Sam stormed into the room, quickly wiping his tears as Sam started tugging at his covers. "Guess what!" Sam cried excitedly, "Dad said I can go!"

"That's great, Sam." Dean said, pulling the covers back over his head. Sam pulled them back again.

"And you're coming with me!" he said, entirely proud of himself. "Dad said you're taking me." Dean sat up slowly, looking suspiciously at his little brother.

"He did?" Dean asked doubtfully. A thought crept in his head as Sam nodded enthusiastically. He got out of the bed, ignoring Sam's chatter, and put his shoes on. He used to play baseball a lot when he was younger, especially before mom died. Sam gave him a look that said he should be tying up his shoes faster. He was anxious to be with his friends.

"Uh, dad?" Dean hesitated, his eyes on the can of beer in his father's hand. "Sam said you told him it was okay if I took him to play baseball." Dean said, making sure. John gave him a slight nod. He, too, remembered his eldest son used to love this sport. He didn't remember Dean playing it in years, though. Maybe a little game would do the boy good, John thought. It would be better for him to take his energy out on a ball instead of other ways to get himself in trouble. And just maybe it would also do to help relieve the guilt he was feeling for hitting Dean.

"Make sure you come back before dark." John reminded him.

"Yes, sir." Dean said obediently.

"Hi, dad, can we get some money to buy snacks?" Sam asked, giving his dad the same puppy look he gave Dean just moments ago. "Everyone gets them." Sam pleaded and John sighed.

"All right." He said, "Get me my wallet." Dean was quick to go for the wallet before Sam even had the chance to move. This was his chance, finally. Glancing over his shoulder, he quickly slipped a twenty in his pocket before giving the wallet to his father. John frowned as he fished a five dollar bill out of his pocket and gave it to Sam. He could have sworn there was more money in his wallet… and then again, he did get that extra bottle of Jack Daniels the other night. He shrugged the thought away. "Don't forget," he caught his older son's look, "be back before dark."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

John looked nervously at his watch. It was getting dark outside, and his sons still hadn't come home. He decided to give them ten more minutes before he went looking for them. They had a lot of explaining to do. He had to go hunting for that creature, not drive around town, looking for his sons. He was more than irritated at his boys' irresponsibility. _No more playing around_, he decided, _from now on, it would be just school and training. No TV, no friends._ He thought. _I don't have the time to deal with all those nonsense,_ he thought as he loaded his twelve-gauge. He jumped at the sound of the door opening, and sighed a little sigh of relief at the sight of his youngest boy. Sam seemed exhausted as he came in, closing the door behind him. John's heart skipped a beat. 

"Where's your brother?" he demanded. Sam shrugged feebly, slumping over the couch.

"Don't know." He said, and John felt his fury rising.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" he demanded.

"I don't know." Sam insisted. "He took me to the park, and we started playing. Dean didn't want to play with us." Sam said. "And when the game was over, I went to the bleachers, where he was _supposed_ to be waiting, but he wasn't there." Sam explained. "I waited for him, but it was getting dark, so I came home by myself." He finished.

John clenched his jaw. That was inexcusable. Leaving his brother like that? Dean was in so much trouble. _I should never have let him go_, John thought.

"Go wash up." He told Sam, who pushed himself up from the couch and walked slowly to the bathroom, leaving muddy footprints as he went. _Dean had better be bleeding out there, or he would never get to see the outside of the motel room again_, John thought angrily.

"Where do you think your brother went?" he asked Sam as he got out of the bathroom. Sam shrugged again. "Well, do you think he might have gone to one of his friends?" John inquired. Sam snorted.

"No way." He said, "Dean doesn't have any friends." John frowned. That couldn't be right.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Sam answered, and John's frown deepened.

"Well, where could he have gone to?" he demanded, worry creeping into both his voice and his heart.

"I dunno." Sam said, "He never goes anywhere without me." _That was true_, John thought, _Dean never left Sammy out of sight before_.

"Go brush your teeth, Sammy, and then go to bed. I'm going out to look for your brother. Lock the door behind me and don't let anyone in. Do you understand?" Sam nodded.

"Yes, sir." He said. "Is Dean in trouble?" he asked, but John didn't answer. He took his twelve-gauge and a .45, noticing his nine millimeter was missing, and left the motel room to look for his son.

He tried the park first, and then the arcade, the school and even the library. Fear was clutching at his chest. _I should have kept a closer eye on him, especially after the school called._ John thought. Dean had been getting to no end of trouble lately, especially since John started to go on farther jobs, leaving his sons on their own for longer periods of time. _This has to end here._ John thought to himself, _I have to teach that boy responsibility_. John's fingers were drumming nervously on the wheel, his eyes searching the road for his older boy. It was late. John just hoped it wasn't too late.

He heaved a great sigh of relief as he spotted his son, and pulled the car over by the park on the far side of town. He got out of his truck, anger replacing the fear he felt just seconds ago.

"Dean Winchester!" John bellowed. Dean flinched. He was watching the other, older kids play basketball. They had asked him to join them, but he was in no shape to play. The older kids gave him dirty looks and distanced themselves from him. Dean cursed. "Front and center, right now!" John shouted. Reluctantly, Dean obeyed. "What the hell where you thinking, leaving your brother like that?" John demanded, and then noticed Dean had taken a couple of steps back. John noticed the fear in his son's eyes. His guilt was catching up with him. But he will deal with it later. First, he had other things to attend to.

"Get in the car, Dean!" John ordered. "Don't make me repeat myself!" he snapped when Dean didn't move. Ever so slowly, Dean headed for his father's truck. John followed him, scowling. "What do you have to say for yourself?" John demanded angrily as he started the car. Dean looked out the window, saying nothing. "I asked you a question, boy!" John raised his voice, glancing at his son sitting in the seat beside him, as far away as the seat allowed. He noticed that Dean didn't lean against the seat. John glanced at his son a few more times, still waiting for the explanation his son never offered. "That's it!" John said, pulling the car over and stepping out. Dean watched, wide-eyed, as his father circled the truck and flung the passenger door open. He flinched. "Out of the car!" John said. "Now, Dean!" he yelled when his son didn't obey quickly enough. Dean looked at the anger on his father's face and bit his lip, slowly, reluctantly, getting out of the car. "You mind telling me what you were doing in that park when I specifically told you and your brother not to come anywhere near it?" John demanded. Dean's eyes were set firmly on the ground. He clenched his jaw, but offered no reply. "I don't get you, Dean. Do you enjoy getting in trouble?" John demanded. Dean still said nothing. "This is your last chance, boy. What were you doing there? Why did you leave your brother?" John was growing impatient.

"I had something to do…" Dean stuttered in a small voice.

"You what?" John raged. "What was so important you had to leave your brother alone? What was so important you came to that park, even though I specifically ordered you not to?" John screamed, but Dean still didn't answer. And then a sudden thought struck John. There was a reason he ordered his sons away from that park. "Empty your pockets." John demanded. At that, Dean's look shot up at his father. He shook his head ever so slightly. "Empty these pockets, or I will do it for you!" John shouted, "Now, Dean!"

With a quivering hand, Dean reached inside his pocket and took out a tiny plastic bag. John slapped him so hard he dropped the bag, and nearly fell.

"Drugs?" John screamed, livid. "You're doing drugs?" Dean wiped the blood from his cut lip with the back of his hand. John shook his head. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded furiously, "How stupid are you?" Dean kept his eyes on the ground, a lump of tears stuck in his throat.  
"You're supposed to be taking care of your brother! You're supposed to protect him! How the hell can you protect him when you're so high you can't even tell he's in danger!" John demanded angrily, and then grabbed Dean by his collar, pulling him closer. "You're not doing drugs, and that's an order!" John yelled. "Do I make myself clear?" he demanded when he got no response from his son. "I am talking to you, young man!" Dean bit his lower lip to stop it from trembling. John pushed him back. "Hell, I guess that's my fault for thinking a thirteen year old boy could ever be…"

"Fourteen." Dean corrected in a faint voice.

"What?" John hissed, annoyed at the interruption.

"I'm fourteen." Dean said, his eyes kept firmly on the ground, making their way to the little plastic bag. John faltered. His mind raced. What date was it? Dear lord, it was the 25th. He had completely forgotten. They never really celebrated much on holidays, but John had tried his best to really be there for his kids on their birthdays. This year, he didn't even wish his son a happy birthday. He didn't take his boys out to dinner or did anything to show them how much he truly loved them. Thank God his Mary wasn't there to see what has become of him. But then John noticed what Dean was looking at. He gritted his teeth, picking up the little plastic bag and ripping it open, spreading the white powder on the ground and stepping on it.

"NO!" Dean cried desperately, pleadingly. John's heart constricted at his son's desperation to get his hands on the drugs. He couldn't understand it, couldn't understand how it ever got to this. Dean was certainly smarter than that.

"What do you need the drugs for, anyway?" John demanded, "You think that's what makes you cool? That that's what'll make you popular?" Dean's reply was nearly inaudible, but it broke John's heart nonetheless.

"They take the pain away…" Dean whispered, trying his best to keep his tears back. John let out a long breath, letting go of the anger along with the air in his lungs. He kneeled before his son. Dean wouldn't look at him. John reached his hand to stroke his son's cheek, but Dean flinched, sucking in his breath, and backed away. John looked remorsefully at his eldest son. His boy had been standing on a ledge, screaming for help at the top of his lungs, and instead of helping him, John had hit him. Twice now.

"Dean…" John said in a small voice, and pulled his son into his arms, holding him close. But Dean screamed in pain, jerking back, breathing hard. "What's wrong?" John asked. Dean took another step back "Get over here, Dean." John said authoritatively. Dean didn't budge. John reached out his hand and caught his son's, pulling him near. Dean gritted his teeth as his father lifted up his shirt. John sucked in his breath at the gruesome sight of his son's back. Two sets of gashes, some deep enough to require stitching.

"Dean, how did this happen?" John asked, trying to catch his son's eyes, and Dean could not longer hold the tears back.

"I tried!" he said, "I thought that I could just kill it, and then you wouldn't have to." Dean cried, "If I could just kill it, you could rest and get better, and not worry about it being out there…" John's eyes widened.

"You went hunting?" he gasped, "On your own?" the thought was inconceivable. His son was only thirteen! _Fourteen,_ he corrected himself. His son was fourteen now. John pulled Dean to him again, hugging him tightly, this time careful not to hurt his son's badly injured back. "You should have told me." John said somberly.

"I tried!" Dean sobbed, "It was too fast… I really thought…" Dean shook his head, "I injured it, I tried to get you to help me, but you wouldn't even listen!" Dean accused. John frowned, wrinkling his brow. When did Dean even mention anything remotely close to hunting on his own? And then his thoughts went back to the other night, when Dean had snuck out. The guilt was overwhelming.

John held his son closer, embracing him, trying to ease his son's pain, trying to protect him, to show him that he loved him. But even as he did so, he noticed Dean didn't return the gesture. He didn't hug his father back. John's eyes welled up.

"Dean, I'm sorry." He said in a broken voice. "I'm so sorry, son." He whispered in his son's ear. He couldn't remember the last time he had hugged his older boy. He couldn't remember seeing Dean cry in years. John kissed the top of Dean's head and got to his feet. "Come on, son. Let's go home to your brother." He said, opening the car door for Dean. "I'll see what I can do about those cuts when we get back. What do you say?" but Dean didn't say a thing. He wiped his tears away, building a wall of silence around him. John had seen that wall before, he just never realized what it was for. Not until now.

So many things ran through John's mind on their silent ride back to the motel. Guilt was definitely the strongest emotion, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was also pride. His son had faced the creature on his own, and though he got himself injured, he wounded the creature. John glanced at Dean sitting silently by his side, staring out the window. _I should give the kid a little break,_ John thought, promising himself he would take his sons out to dinner the next day, probably even let Dean skip school for a couple of days until he felt better. And then they would go hunting for the creature together. His son has proven himself a worthy hunter in John's mind.

"Dad?" John looked back at his son as he stepped out of the car. "Don't tell Sammy." Dean asked. "He doesn't need to know. He's just a kid."


End file.
